


John and Ella

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Therapy, What John's Willing To Admit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 03:42:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3676068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's therapy sessions with Ella.<br/> <br/><i>Note: We've tried something a little different this week. If you're missing Sherlock or our usual smut, don't worry -- both will be back next week. If you can't wait, please check out <b><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/works">some of our other works</a></b></i><br/>Thanks once again go to the wonderful transcripts of <a href="http://arianedevere.livejournal.com/">Ariane De Vere</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. John Goes To See Ella

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

John was fiddling with his fingers as he sat in the quiet lobby, looking around and wondering if he still had time to leave. This was silly. He sighed and looked around one more time. He knew that it wasn't silly. This sort of thing had helped so many others, people he knew and respected. He was just nervous. But bigger than his nerves was the desire to stop being unable to sleep and to stop flinching at ordinary sounds and to stop feeling like it would be so easy to just end it all. He checked the time as he remembered his gun in the desk drawer at his flat. This was not silly. He needed this -- to give it a real try. 

Ella opened her door and glanced out at her next patient. John Watson. Very likeable, but difficult. Partly because he was somewhat damaged by the war -- military patients suffer so much, often with little chance of release -- but also because he was clever which made him a bit suspicious of her sometimes. Nothing new, of course, but still difficult. "John," she said. "Come in."

John sighed softly and stood, pausing for just a second before following her into the office. It looked exactly the same. It always looked the same. He didn't know what he expected to change. "Hello," he said as he took his usual seat. He put his hands on the armrests and tried to keep his fingers still as he waited for her to get settled.

Ella took out her pad of paper and glanced at her notes. She didn't need to -- she'd looked at them this morning -- but she hoped it made John feel she was giving him her full attention and taking all of it seriously. She was. She wasn't sure he was.

"Would you like to tell me about your week?" she asked. "Or would you prefer I choose a topic of discussion?"

John watched her read his notes and tried to see them himself, but he didn't want to be obvious about it. "My week was . . .the same." As many times as they talked about it, he hated admitting the nightmares. He hated admitting that a door slamming or an expected siren made him freeze with fear.

"So more nightmares . . ." Ella said, jotting a note down. "Can you describe one to me?"

John felt his hand clench and he looked over at it, tightening it and then trying to release it to calm down. "It's always the same one. Gunshots and sand flying up . . . I can never see who's shooting and yet everyone around me is dying. I'm supposed to be helping them -- healing them -- but they've given me a gun and I can't do anything." He shook his head before looking up at her, waiting for her notes, her explanations, her logic. He wanted them to stop. 

"That sounds horrible, John," Ella said. "I think you know why you have them. You wanted to be a doctor, not a soldier -- that's who you are and why those things haunt you. I think you also know that that's probably a good thing. If they meant nothing to you, then you would be a different kind of man." She looked over at John but he wasn't looking at her. She put the notebook down. "That said, it's clear we need to try to stop them." She explained some breathing exercises and visualisation techniques, watching John's face during her explanation. She paused for a moment.

"John," she said, not harshly but a little more sternly. "It's all right if you think these things won't work. I don't take it personally. However, something is bringing you back here. I think you know you need help to solve this. There's no shame in that. So try them, yeah? If they don't help, they don't help. But try. I'd like us to practise now so that you'll know precisely what to do if you have another nightmare."

John finally looked at her, clenched both hands to keep them still, and nodded. "All right," he said.

Ella asked John to close his eyes. She talked him through the exercises, asking him to do each step. She let him sit quietly for a few moments once he seemed more relaxed. Then she said, "Give that a try the next time a nightmare wakes you up." She shifted a little in her seat. "Let's talk about some things you might be able to do to stop the nightmares from coming in the first place. Have you looked into getting a job?"

John tried to do the exercises and memorise them at the same time. They weren't difficult, and he grudgingly agreed to try them at home. If they helped he would owe her everything. He knew she was only trying to help and he needed to let her. When she mentioned getting a job, he filled with tension again. She knew about his tremor, about how is was preventing him from being a surgeon again. "I can't," he said. He hated admitting that and he hated that she was making him say it. 

"Why, John?" Ella asked patiently. "I believe you but I want you to tell me why -- be precise."

John threw her an annoyed look, but just as quickly he looked away. He took a deep breath. "My hands have a tremor and I can't operate anymore." 

"Not all jobs require that you do surgery," Ella suggested softly.

John flushed lightly. "So what? I'll just sit in a clinic and treat flu all day?" 

"Possibly," Ella said. "And how would that make you feel?"

"Useless," John said without thinking. He looked over at her and sighed. "I'm over qualified. It'll be . . . boring," he admitted.

"And what you're doing now, which is. . ." she glanced down at her notebook as if she were checking, ". . . nothing. That's making the best use of your qualifications? You don't find nothing boring?" She smiled lightly at him.

John looked over at her with a resigned expression. "Right now it's unbearable," he admitted.

"Yes, definitely, you're right, it is unbearable," Ella said. "If you convince yourself not to try. You can be sure nothing will change if you're unwilling to change." She paused. "How’s your blog going?" 

"Yeah, good," John said, clearing his throat awkwardly. _"_ Very good."

"You haven’t written a word, have you?" She doodled on her paper.

"You just wrote, 'still has trust issues,'" John said, glancing at her notebook.

"And you read my writing upside down. Do you see what I mean?" Ella said. "John, you were in a war, and it’s going take you a while to adjust to civilian life; and writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you."

"That's the problem," John said. _"Nothing_ happens to me."


	2. A Little Over A Month Later

The waiting room looked different to John now. Maybe because it had been a while since he'd been in, but ever since he met Sherlock -- well, a lot of things were different now. He wouldn't be coming at all if he could help it, but he'd ignored a lot of phone calls and he supposed he owed it to Ella to at least explain why he felt he didn't need to come back. He'd been out in the park looking for something to write in that stupid blog and ran into Mike who introduced him to Sherlock. He smiled at the thought -- at how impressive Sherlock had been that first time they met. He was smiling a lot now. He wondered if it would be silly to mention that to Ella. Maybe she would notice. Along with all the other changes. He would wait and see. 

Ella opened the door and called John in. The first thing she noticed was that the cane was gone, but she decided not to open with a reference to that. Instead she sat down, set her notebook on her lap, and asked, "So, it's been a while -- how are things, John?"

"Good, yeah," he said. He found he wasn't quite so annoyed with her this time around.

"Intriguing response," Ella said, smiling a little. "Does this mean something has happened, despite your claim that nothing ever does?"

John couldn't help smiling now. "Yeah. I mean, I got a new flatmate and he's good. Exciting. It's given me something to blog about."

"You're blogging about your friend?" Ella asked.

"Well, he's my colleague . . . and friend, I guess. He's a detective for the police," John explained.

"Colleague? You're a doctor working for a detective?" Ella asked, writing the word 'friend' down in her notebook, hoping that John wouldn't immediately notice.

"It's complicated. But it's exciting." John watched her write the word but didn't mention it. It was true.

"Well, that's good, that's good to hear," Ella said. "And I see the leg's feeling better?"

John looked down at his leg and rubbed his thigh lightly. "He fixed it," he said simply. He still didn't know how, had no explanation, so he didn't try.

"I see," Ella said. She considered writing something down, but decided not to risk it. "So you're feeling physically better and you've found a job and flatmate -- how about dating? Have you been doing any of that?"

"I have a proper job too, at the surgery just working in the office," he said, ignoring the question about dating.

"Wow, it seems like I'm speaking to a very different John Watson," she said. "I seem to remember the words 'unbearable' and 'nothing' being used during our last meeting. What caused this turnaround, do you think?"

"There's not nothing anymore. In fact, I don't think I really need to keep coming in," he said cautiously, looking over at her.

"Of course, that's your decision," Ella said. "These changes all sound positive . . . though changes can bring their own challenges, of course." She paused for a moment. "Are you still having nightmares?" 

John shook his head. "I haven't had one since . . .well, since I moved in with Sherlock," he said.

"The detective, I presume," Ella said. She wrote down the name Sherlock. "And this Sherlock has managed to heal your leg, find you a flat, get you a job, and cure your nightmares? How do you explain this magic touch he appears to have?"

"I told you. It's because there's not just nothing anymore. I don't know how he did the leg and I got the job to pay for the flat. And we run around on so many cases I guess I'm too tired to have nightmares."

"So you're saying," Ella said, looking down at her notebook. "It's not him that's changed you, it's your friendship."

"I don't know. I mean, I have other friends," he said, but that wasn't really true. He hardly had Mike. And now thanks to Sherlock he could add Lestrade and Molly and Mrs Hudson to the list. So maybe he did have friends.

"So there's nothing special about him -- it's just being around other people that's affected this change?" She looked a few pages back through her notes, trying to find names John might have mentioned in previous visits.

"Well . . . not exactly. I mean, it's mostly him. A lot of people think . . .I don't know. We just spend a lot of our time together." John didn't know if it would be a good idea to mention the fact that everyone thought they were dating.

"So he is a little magic, then?" She glanced down at her notes again. "It's been a little over a month since we last saw each other. I'm very pleased you're doing well, but I confess I'm quite surprised by how . . . quickly things have changed. Do you feel all right about that?"

Yeah, I mean, it's good. It feels good. Should I be worried?" John asked, looking over at her again. 

"It's not my job to make you worried, John," she said. "I think it's wonderful that you've made so much progress. But the things that you struggled with . . . those were big things, which generally don't just magically go away."

"He's not magic," John said. "I think I am just . . . better."

Ella smiled. "I'm glad, John. I can see you are better," she said. "But you're a doctor and must know that trauma can resurface sometimes -- even at unexpected moments. I want you to be willing to ask for help again if you need it."

John watched her for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, I will," he promised.

Ella closed her notebook. "Good," she said. "Do you want to make another appointment or would you rather just call if you feel the need?"

"I will just call if I feel the need," John said, scooting to the edge of the chair. He doubted he would ever be back.

Ella stood up and shook John's hand and then walked him to the door.

John left that day and put Ella almost out of his mind. His suffering and pain were no longer the focus of his life.


	3. Three Months Later

John got home and grabbed the post. He saw an envelope from Ella. He opened it and pulled out a card with a note scribbled on it in her writing (which he could have read upside down if he had wanted to).

 _Dear John,_  
I hope all is well.  
I wanted to send you my new contact details. Please note the phone and address change.  
Feel free to call if you need anything.  
Best, Ella 

He put the card away in the drawer of the desk. He didn't want to throw it out, but he didn't save the details in his phone either. Things were going great. He was better now.


	4. Fifteen Months Later

It had been the hardest phone call he'd ever had to make. The reasoning behind it still sat heavily in his chest. It was always hard to breathe. It was always hard to sleep. Being in the flat was crushing and yet being away from it was somehow worse. He would drift between being sad and being angry because how dare Sherlock do that to him, do that in front of him. The tremor in his hand was worse than ever and while he wasn't using his cane again, his leg definitely ached again. He had let Sherlock consume everything in his life and now that he was gone . . . it was like John was gone as well. He hoped Ella wouldn't be smug about it.

Ella opened the door but didn't call John's name. She glanced at him and then turned back into her office and sat down. John followed.

"Why today?" Ella asked.

"Do you want to hear me say it?" John said quietly.

"Eighteen months since our last appointment," Ella noted.

"Do you read the papers?" John's voice was almost angry now.

"Sometimes."

"Mmm, and you watch telly? You know why I’m here," John said, the pain clear in his voice. "I’m here because. . ."

Ella leaned forward and softly said, "What happened, John?"

John closed his eyes and tried to get control of himself. Then he looked up at her again, cleared his throat and said, "Sher --" but he couldn't continue. He cleared his throat again and swallowed hard.

"You need to get it out," Ella said gently.

"My best friend . . . Sherlock Holmes . . . is dead."

As John began to cry, Ella reached over and touched his arm. She left the silence for a few minutes, knowing that this release of emotion was probably unusual and very, very much needed. Finally she sat back and grabbed a box of tissues which she set near John. She put her notebook to the side. "I need you to talk a little now, John," she said finally. "You can tell me what happened if you like, but my main concern always is you and how you are coping. So whatever you want to talk about, John, works -- I just need you to talk a little."

John shook his head, staring down at his hands. He didn't want to talk about what happened. There was no way he could get the words out about what actually happened. But his mouth and his brain seemed to be conspiring against him. "When I saw him, I yelled . . . I tried to . . . I couldn't save him," he mumbled. Why hadn't Sherlock listened to him? He wasn't a fraud. John knew that, believed it with everything inside of him. They could have fixed it. They could have tried to fix it together.

"Maybe that's what this is about -- you're a doctor, John, you save people. But sometimes you can't. You couldn't always in Afghanistan and . . . you couldn't with him," Ella said softly. Of course, she knew the details, she'd seen the "Suicide of Fake Genius" headlines. She hadn't known the man, of course, and she knew the tabloids were hardly to be believed. However, all that mattered now was what John believed -- not about the detective, but about himself. "Doctors can't save everyone, John. That's the way of the world. You know that -- it doesn't make it easier, but it's still worth remembering."

"I wasn't his doctor," John said angrily. "I was his friend. I was his only friend and I failed. It didn't matter."

"It does matter, John," she said. "Tell me why you were his only friend."

"He was difficult. A complete arse and . . . and too brilliant for people to understand," he finished more gently, feeling his eyes burning again. "He didn't like people."

"But he liked you. Why do you think he did?"

John shook his head. "I don't know. I'm just . . . boring."

"I think you've forgotten that answers like that are not satisfactory here," Ella said, trying to make a smile. "Have a good think. Why did Sherlock Holmes like you?"

John shook his head. "I don't know. He never said. He just liked having me around," he said.

"But I think you know, even if he never said," she said. She knew she was pushing, but she also knew John was stronger than he thought. "A man who likes no one likes you. Why?"

"I helped. I helped with cases and bringing in clients," he said.

"So you did help him," she said. "I have the feeling you helped him in other ways as well. Do people always invite their colleague to live with them? Do they always heal their legs or their lives? What else did you offer him, John?"

" I offered . . . ." John said, trying to think before giving up. "I don't know what I offered. He liked me. That seemed like enough. I thought it would be enough."

"I'm going to ask a question now, John, but you must think before you answer," Ella said. "Do you think he loved you?"

"Loved me?" John asked before he could help it. No way. Sherlock wasn't like that -- he said himself he didn't do that sort of thing. He swallowed hard and shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe. He didn't really . . . it's just hard to tell with him." A small part of him acknowledged that this was the only time he hadn't argued about there being something more than friendship between them. With Sherlock gone now, his arguments seemed unimportant. "Do you think if . . . if I had told him that I loved him he wouldn't have . . . have . . . left?" he asked softly.

"Did you love him?" she asked, keeping her tone as soft as she could.

John's eyes burned again, and this time tears spilled over again. Did he? "I don't know," he mumbled. "Maybe."

"John," Ella said, leaning forward a little. "It sounds like you helped your friend much more than you know. That has value, John. _You_ have value. That's what you must remember." It flashed in her mind to reach over and grab his hand, so she did, giving it a quick squeeze before sitting back quickly in her chair. "You've lost someone, John, you need to give yourself time to grieve."

John nodded. "But he thought no one believed him and I did. I always did," he said quietly.

"I think he knew that, John," she said. "It's clearer than you realise." She paused for a moment, hoping John would allow himself to accept that. Then she said, "John, suicide is sometimes called an easy way out, but we cannot know the complications that cause a person to make that choice. Don't try to understand. Don't tell yourself that if only you had done something differently, you could've changed things. You were his friend, you helped him and you loved him. That's what friends do."

"I know about suicide," John reminded her. "But he wasn't . . . he wasn't in a bad place. This was all . . . unnecessary," he said. "And now he's gone."

"And now you're here," Ella said. "And you'll grieve and heal but never stop missing him. You'll live, John, because that's all you can do." She looked closely at him. "Will you come back so we can keep working together?"

John nodded. "Yeah, I will," he mumbled.

Ella looked over at John. "Have the nightmares returned?" she asked hesitantly.

John nodded. "Not the war," he said quietly, hoping she would understand. They were all Sherlock now. He'd even tried her exercises, but they weren't helping. A part of him didn't want the nightmares to stop because at least he could see Sherlock again.

"Do you see him?" Ella asked softly, thinking of the articles she had read and knowing that John had been there.

"Every time," he said. "Sometimes he blames me, other times he calls for help and I can't move . . . sometimes I'm on the roof pushing him . . ." He broke off and rubbed his face hard.

"Stop for a second, John," Ella said. "Think back to that first month, John. When he changed everything. Remember? One day you told me nothing happens to you and then a month later, your entire world was better. Tell me one thing about that first month."

John swallowed hard. It was difficult thinking about those days now. "Um. That's when he fixed my leg. On our first case together."

"Think about that case," Ella said. "Try to keep your thoughts focused just on that case. Think of something associated it with -- maybe your cane or, I don't know, a clue or something. Pick one object."

John thought about the ID Sherlock had stolen from Lestrade. He'd laughed so much that night. "Okay."

"If you have another nightmare, I want you to imagine him handing you the object. Do your best to replace the other images with that one. Just try. When I see you next week, you can tell me if it's not worked. I know you always took a strange pleasure in doing that, but you're not allowed to say it unless you've actually tried," Ella said, trying to smile a little. "When's good for you?" she asked, leaning over to grab her calendar from her desk.

"Any time. I'm not working right now," he said quietly. He imagined Sherlock handing him the wallet and the two of them laughing.  It made his heart hurt so he stopped.

They decided on a time. Before John left, Ella said, "John -- you're going to have to allow yourself to grieve, you know that. But take care of yourself as well, okay? If you need me before the next appointment, you can call."

John nodded as he pulled on his jacket and left the office. The thought of going back to an empty flat was daunting -- even worse than when he used to go back home to his little hole in the wall -- but he couldn't imagine ever living somewhere else.


	5. A Year And A Half Later

Once again John found himself in Ella's lobby thinking that this was going to be the last time he needed to come see her. He wasn't as happy about it as the last time, but now that he was officially moving on, he figured it was the right time to move on properly. His life was moving forward and he no longer needed sessions to stop nightmares and tremors. He remembered how wrong he was the last time he came in with this thought, but after getting past Sherlock's death, there was nothing else that could affect him the same way. He had a support system now. Things would be okay.

Ella came out and motioned John into the room. "You're looking good," she said. She sat down across from him. He did look good -- every time she saw him, he looked better and better.

John smiled lightly and nodded. "Yeah, things are . . . they're okay," he said. He touched his thighs and then rested his hands on the arms of the chair before looking over at her.

"Everything all right at work?"

John nodded. "Work is really good, yeah. It's been busy. That's good. It keeps my mind busy."

"Any nightmares since our last visit?"

John nodded. "But not as frequently," he added.

"You've suffered so much over the last few years, it makes sense there will still be tough times," Ella said. "But John, you've made such progress. I hope you can see that."

"Yeah, I know. I mean, I see it," he said, opening and closing his hands. The tremors were rare these days.

"Do you think you might be able to love someone again?" she asked. He'd made improvements to his physical health and his ability to work. This was the only area they hadn't yet talked much about.

John considered for a long time. If he told her his thoughts about Mary now, it would seem like he would be admitting that he had thought of Sherlock in the same way. Or that he had now replaced Sherlock with Mary. Was that the case? His feelings for Sherlock had been confusing and forced into the light by tragedy. He didn't know how much he trusted them. "I've met someone. We've been out a few times. She's nice," he said. 

"And do you love her?" Ella asked.

John nodded. "I've been thinking about asking her to marry me," he said. This was the first time he had said it out loud. 

"Because you love her?"

"Why do you keep asking me that? I just told you," John said. He didn't understand. 

"I'm just trying to get things clear, John," Ella said. She flipped through her notebook. "You've mentioned her once or twice -- I guess it's just surprised me you are already thinking about marriage."

"Well, I haven't seen you in a while," John said. "I met her at work and she is fun and smart." 

If Ella hadn't known about John's ability to read her writing upside down, she might have written the word 'defensive' in her book. "So there's . . . magic between you?" she asked. 

John looked up at her. "She's not Sherlock," he said. "Sherlock was my best friend. She is my girlfriend." 

Ella smiled. "Well, that's clear then." She closed the notebook. "I'm glad things are going well for you, John. Perhaps we don't need to book another appointment." She watched his face for any reactions. "But you always know where to find me if anything were to come up."

"What would come up?" he asked a bit too quickly. "I mean, I know, I was thinking the same thing, actually, I mean, about not needing to come back."

"John, no one knows what the future holds, " Ella said. "But I'm not worried about you. I guess I just meant, you know, like sometimes people go to doctors for a check up. I just meant, you know how to find me . . . if you need a check up." She stood up from her chair.

John made his way out. Things were so much better now he didn't think he'd ever be back. He was better.


	6. Six Months Later

John couldn't stop pacing the lobby. He was angry and he felt embarrassed and tricked. Mary had tried to calm him down but it was impossible. She didn't understand. No one but Ella would understand because she was the only person who knew John had loved him. She knew the most about how deeply he'd been affected, how deeply he'd mourned and suffered. 

Ella heard noise in the waiting room and opened her office door. "John, what's going on? It's after five -- you didn't have an appointment, did you?" she rambled when she saw who it was. Then she stepped aside and said, "John, are you okay? Come in -- come in and tell me what's going on."

"He's back," John said simply as he walked into the office. "He was never dead."  
  
"Jesus," Ella said, before she realised it wasn't the most professional of responses. But John was her concern, her patient, and it pained her to see even more trauma being dumped upon him. She sat down. "Start wherever you need to start." She didn't bother finding John's notes.

John didn't sit down. He continued pacing back and forth, too worked up to sit still. "I was about to propose to Mary and he . . . he just walked up to the table and told me to shave," he growled.

"What? Where? How?" Ella asked. From what she'd learned about this man from John, Sherlock Holmes was definitely unusual, but this . . . how had he managed to do this and why did he do it to John?

"I don't know," he said. "I don't. It was a trick. A lie. I mourned and grieved and realised I'd . . ." He trailed off and rubbed his face hard. "How could he do this to me?"

"Did he explain at all why he did? Was it just to be cruel?" Ella asked. She wasn't sure what answer would be easiest to deal with.

"He faked it to chase after that maniac," John said. "He did it for a case like he does everything else. Everything is a game. A trick."

John wasn't giving Ella enough to make sense of things, but she wasn't sure if it was because he didn't know or because his emotions were making it hard for him to be clear. "But you also worked on cases, why hadn't he explained it to you at least?" she asked.

"He said it was necessary to make it believable. That if I believed it, he could get his job done more easily." He finally sat down and sighed heavily.

Ella thought for a moment. "But you helped him with cases. Why wouldn't he want your help with this case?"

"I don't know," John half shouted. "He didn't trust me. He didn't need me."

Ella looked at John. "Your voice is angry, John. What is making you the most angry at this moment?"

"He lied to me. Everything I went through was for nothing," John said. 

"Do you mean everything you went through before he di-- before he left or since he's been gone?" Ella asked.

"Since he left," John said. "All of the mourning and the sadness . . .it was all for nothing."

"Was it, though? Of course, I know what you mean, John, and I can't begin to imagine the complicated feelings you must be experiencing. But I wouldn't say it was all for nothing. You loved him, John. There's always value in that, even when it comes with pain."

"I just feel so stupid! He told his brother and his parents and Molly! He told Molly at the lab and didn't tell me," he said, his voice raising in anger again. 

"You told me once you were his only friend," Ella said. "Could the fact that he didn't tell you mean that in some strange way he was trying to protect you? I know that it didn't stop you from the hurt, I know you hurt -- but could that have been part of the reason he deliberately told others but not you?"

"How could that be? I could have helped him," John said. "I could have." 

"I know you could have, John," Ella said. "But what's hurting you is that you think he thought you couldn't. Have you asked him why he thought you couldn't help?"

"No. I'm not speaking to him. I can't," John said. 

"Okay," Ella said. "Are you thinking that's the plan forever or just until you get your head round things?"

"I don't know! I'm so angry and hurt and I don't know how to handle this. What do I tell Mary? Are we going to solve cases again? He asked me to help on something but . . . how can I now?"

"Let's look at these one at a time," Ella said. "So he _does_ believe you can still help him. Do you want to?"

John swallowed hard and nodded. He missed the excitement of cases and chasing criminals and solving puzzles with Sherlock. But he had accepted that it would never be a part of his life again and now . . . now he didn't know what he wanted. He had thought he wanted a life with Mary now -- how would he run off all the time with Mary at home?

"Stop thinking of what ifs right now, John," Ella interrupted. "Do you _want_ to help him again? It doesn't mean you will, you just need to consider if you even want to."

"Yes," John said out loud. "I miss it. I . . . I missed him." 

"And the other feelings . . . do you think those are still there?"

"I'm with Mary now," he said, knowing as he said it that it was the poorest answer he could give and it wasn't going to be good enough for her. But he needed time to think, to properly prepare an answer. 

"Let's revisit that question next time, yeah? When you've had a little more time to get used to his being back," she said. "What does Mary know about your life with Sherlock?"

"That we were flatmates and that we worked on cases together. She found the blog but I don't think she know about my . . . about anything else," he changed quickly. 

"And do you think you still feel the same about her?"

"My feelings for her haven't changed," John said. But seeing Sherlock now and being forced to talk about this with Ella made him realise that maybe his feelings for her were always just enough to get by. Now, being faced with the proper thing again, he knew his feelings for Mary weren't the same as what he'd felt for Sherlock. 

Ella looked closely at John's face. "Do you love her?" she asked, repeating the question John never actually answered during their last appointment.

John looked at his hand on the armrest, fingers opening and closing. He shook his head. "I love Sherlock," he whispered. 

"Then we've got some work to do, John," Ella said. "Do you feel like you can talk yet to either of them about what you're feeling?"

"No," John said immediately. How would he explain to Mary that he was in love with a man after half proposing to her? And Sherlock? He couldn't imagine talking to him at all, let alone talking about those kinds of feelings. Sherlock hated feelings. All Sherlock cared about was work. He proved that by the stunt he pulled, hurting John more than anyone could -- all for a case. 

"But you know you will need to talk to both of them at some point, yes?" Ella said. "If you're planning on keeping one or both of them in your life," she added.

John shook his head. "If I say it, I will lose them both and I can't," he said. 

"If you say nothing, you will not be fair to either of them or more importantly to yourself," Ella said. "You've suffered so much, John -- quite frankly through other people's actions. If you marry someone you don't love and hide your feelings from the one you do love . . . well, I feel I know you pretty well, and that doesn't seem the kind of thing that a man like John Watson would do." She smiled softly. "Not today, John, you don't have to do it today. But one day, you will have to."

John shook his head but this time he said, "I don't even know where to start . . ." 

"Forgiving Sherlock feels like the start. Even if you don't understand why he did it and even if you have to make clear to him how much you hurt, I think you're going to have to forgive him, no matter how much time it takes. Your grief and -- if you don't mind me saying -- your relationship with Mary were both symptoms of losing someone you loved. They were completely understandable, as is your feeling of betrayal now," Ella said. "However, you have been given a gift that millions of people would love to receive: the one you love has come back to life. If you can forgive him, John, you'll be able to see more clearly what the next step might be."

"What if he doesn't love me? He doesn't do that kind of thing. What if after all of this I just end up embarrassed and alone?"

"This isn't really about him in some ways, John, it's about you," Ella said. "Think about what you want from him. You were happy before, right? -- even though he didn't do 'that kind of thing' then either. Perhaps that's what you want. Or maybe . . . " she softened her voice a little, ". . . maybe you want more. Spend some time with him in the next week. See if you can forgive him. Then you'll have a sense of what precisely you want -- whether you want it to be like it was or if you want something more. You might even realise you don't love him anymore. But give yourself a fair chance by forgiving him first before you make any decisions about what you feel and what you want."

"Okay. Fine. I will try to see him and figure it out from there," John agreed. He didn't know how this would go, and he felt sick with nerves at the thought of going to see him.

"It all needs to be on your terms, John," Ella clarified. "See how you feel -- don't push yourself too much. A little, but not too much."

John nodded."I'm going to try. I just wish that he'd be sorry . . . that he'd realise that this isn't something to joke about. It makes it so much worse . . ."

"I can understand that," Ella said. "It's good to feel validated, it's good when our feelings are acknowledged. But I don't really remember that being one of his strong points, do you?"

John shook his head. "No, it wasn't. But I thought that maybe after all of this time . . . I don't know." He took a deep breath. "Maybe I'll go see him tomorrow."

"Spend some time with him -- now that the shock is starting to ease. Perhaps you'll find he has changed as well," Ella said. "Perhaps he hasn't, but there is only one way to find out."

John nodded. He knew that she was right, but he also knew that this wasn't going to be easy.


	7. A Month Later

John was bouncing his leg lightly as he waited to be called into the office. He couldn't believe how different things were since the last time he was here. He remembered bursting in here, a bit out of his mind with anger, trying to sort out everything he was feeling. A lot of things had happened since then. He'd been kidnapped and almost killed, and he'd gone on an adventure with Sherlock where he actually apologised. He had tricked John again, of course, but things were better since then. And Mary . . . well, that hadn't been so easy but it had needed to be done.

Ella opened the door and motioned John in. "I confess I was a little worried about you, I was expecting you back sooner," she said as she sat down.

"I've been really busy," John told her, even offering a small smile.

"I see," Ella said, returning his smile. "So do you have some things to tell me?"

John nodded. "I'm not sure if you heard that I was kidnapped. It forced me into the case he needed help with and we both almost died and things were just . . .normal again."

"Almost dying is normal?" Ella asked.

"Usually. With Sherlock's cases," John nodded. "It puts things in perspective."

"Did you and he talk about . . . you know, each other's feelings, at all?"

"Not that day," John said. "I wanted to speak to Mary first because whatever Sherlock decided, I wanted to go home with him. She didn't take it very well," he added pointlessly.

"I'm sure that was hard," Ella said. "But the right thing to do, it seems. And have you and Sherlock . . . decided anything?"

John nodded. He thought back to the day John finally brought it up and, well, it was so difficult and awkward but they had done it, they had talked about his feelings. And Sherlock's. "Yeah, we decided it all." He couldn't help smiling again.

"Good," Ella said. "Is he still magic, then?"

"Yeah," John smiled. "But you too. I don't have nightmares anymore. I do your exercises a lot, and they've helped." 

"I'm glad, John," Ella said. "Listen, you're a caregiver -- you take care of people and you're good at that. But make sure you take care of you. And that he takes care of you . . . even if his ways aren't quite . . . traditional, make sure he looks after you. Your feelings as well your safety. That's what love's about, right?"

"I know," John said. "It's all a bit new for him but in a way for me too, so we're both just . . .learning. It's been good." He was smiling again.

"Good," Ella said. "My number one concern will always be you, of course, but I hope you both can be happy. "

"Thank you for . . . you know. Everything," he said awkwardly.

"You're welcome, John."


End file.
